A Bit of Rambling

 I should just ramble a bit. It sometimes is good to just meander about your brain. When I was young, I decided that the brain

was the most import thing in your body. That was before I learned about all the other vital organs and why they are considered vital.



Still, you don't think with them (widely held beliefs about men and certain parts of their bodies, notwithstanding), do you? You do not have long, philosophical discussions with them on rainy afternoons. Your liver just filters and secretes, as do your kidneys, your bowels just constrict and loosen and move things along, your lungs just contract and expand, and the chambers of your heart throb in some kind of syncopated rhythm that makes sense.

 They have no extra hidden personalities to converse with. It is your brain which holds those mysteries. In my brain I found a guy who had the answer to every insult (almost) but who usually was out to lunch or something when I needed him. There was also that brave soul who would smack the bully right in the eye but, alas, he was often away on some adventure somewhere when I most needed his services. 

And a brilliant chap who whizzed through every test imaginable who only showed up on those very rare occasions when the tests really didn't matter. Or only appeared briefly, mumbled some answers to you in an inaudible whisper, and then would vanish.



But on those rainy afternoons when I was alone in my room, they would all be there. Along with several others. You probably know of them, too. The silver-tongued Lothario (though he didn't come around much until I was in  my teens), the risk taker with the reflexes of a jungle cat, the poet and writer who had such a great command of word and verse, the clever artist who could paint and draw the sometimes complex and bizarre images that only he could conjure up, and, of course, the dark ones.

 The dark ones were the ones who got you into trouble. The most influential of these was Mr. Dare who told you that you wouldn't get caught reading your sister's diary, or filching a couple of dollars from Mom's purse, or stealing that candy bar. He fled as soon as you did get caught, of course, he certainly didn't want to hang around for the punishment. No, you had Mr. Guilt, Mr. Remorse, and Mr. Resentment for those times.

 Yes, it is your brain which holds those mysteries behind all those doors down all the tunnels throughout the maze of your mind.

[1733/1734/1603]